


Remembrance

by almostbecamehistoric (capgal)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Dark!Enjolras, M/M, and also, ghost!Enjolras, not a happy fic my dears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:51:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capgal/pseuds/almostbecamehistoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire does not die by Enjolras' side but stays silent, and lives. Now, the only survivor of the barricade, he is haunted by guilt, by nightmares and memories--and by Enjolras. Ghost, spirit, memory, hallucination, he doesn't know--only that Enjolras is with him, now and always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

A flash of impossibly golden hair catches my eye. As always, I spin around, desperately seeking the only possible source. As always, he is not there. As always, I turn back slowly, knowing full well I will repeat the same tired routine the next time I catch a whisper of the musical voice, a flash of the red coattail, a ghostly brush of a hand against my own.

I am granted a break until I reach my home. But as I close the door behind me, I hear the gentle voice whisper my name. I suppress the immediate urge to turn around and close my eyes instead; sometimes, if I don't try to catch him, I can talk with him for a while.

"Is it really you?" I whisper, hardly daring to make a sound in case he disappears again. A soft laugh echoes through the room.

"Have you missed me?" he whispers in my ears. I can almost feel his warm breath against my skin, and I shiver involuntarily. He laughs again, the sound free and ringing like bells despite the quiet, breathy tone. He is always happier, more open like this than I ever knew him. He is gentler with me than he ever was, than I ever deserved.

"Dieu, I miss you every second," I answer, the response almost reflexive now. "I miss you with every breath, every blink, every heartbeat."

Today is a good day. I imagine I can feel his arms snaking around me, reaching over my shoulder and wrapping around my chest. I sigh and wiggle a little, trying to feel as much of his presence behind me as I can.

That's when I make the fatal mistake. I reach behind me and try to hold him. My hand passes through nothing, lands on my own back. He disappears. His voice, his warmth, his laugh, his arms.... All gone, just like that. As always.

I don't even try to fight it; there's no point. I fall weakly to my knees, and let my head drop into my hands. A strangled sob I hardly recognize as my own voice comes out my throat, shaking my entire body on the way. Tears stream down my cheeks, through my fingers, into my clothes. I do not care, there is nobody to see and nothing to be lost anymore.

The sobs keep coming without even a second's reprieve, each one ripping through my body like a knife slicing me apart. Except the wounds cannot be seen. Wounds that do not bleed, that cannot be seen, that will not show in any man's eyes, cannot be healed.

Why am I here? What is this miserable thing I call my life but a mechanical continuation of a meaningless existence? I never had meaning beyond him--my life was pointless before him, and it is even more pointless after him. I have no direction, no purpose, no principle, no reason.... Nothing.

I scream, a release of every emotion that strangles my voice and makes my heart clench--pain, grief, despair, loss, hopelessness, hatred, and for the first time in months, rage. Rage at the world, for taking him from me. Rage at him, for leaving me alone like this. Rage at fate, for tying me to him and making me fall in love. Rage at myself, for not being able to move on or follow him. Rage, rage, rage.

There is no escape. There is no reprieve. This is my sentence, for my innumerable sins and failures. This is my punishment, for being too much a coward to stand by him. I deserve no less than to be tormented by my own memories, my own mind, my own god. There is nowhere I can go, nowhere I can be free; it is me, all me, that causes and receives the pain.

I kneel there and cry until I am too weak to stay upright. Then I fall prostrate on the ground, until sleep overpowers me. It brings with it no rest, but more memories and sweet words and dreams--only to be snatched away just as I finally begin to believe them.

Nothing changes. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Just me--the alone and broken excuse of a man--and him--the beautiful, terrible angel from Hell.


End file.
